


Better or Worse

by IrreWilderer



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fingering, Cunnilingus, F/M, Multiple Orgasms, Vaginal Fingering, first time doing anything more than smooching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 07:49:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11054544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrreWilderer/pseuds/IrreWilderer
Summary: Kissing was one thing. It was a languid thing; something simple as he navigated and negated her fears by easy, soft distraction. Ma’ven hummed while Solas buried into her neck, nipped at her ears, and it had to be enough as their lips met once more because he did not trust himself. Solas had worked hard to cultivate a reserved façade, and it cracked and wrecked when his lips were on hers. He was never so honest as when Ma’ven was in his arms, pulling his silent secrets which came in the form of his candid passion. At least with his tongue laving over hers he could not articulate words enough to form an out-right confession.But bedding her was different. Would be different. So he kissed her and they lay in their private torment. And it certainly wasn’t better, but the alternative was far worse.Until it wasn't.___________Prompt fill for multiple orgasms.





	Better or Worse

They were together now, for better or worse – though each knew it was both and neither.

Better came with the relief of knowing she now had someone to confide in. Pillow-talk consisted of whispered worries, insight sought; questions about this or that, though never without purpose. Her heart lay bare as they bedded down, and, just as the Inquisitor came unburdened from her Inquisitor’s mantle, there was a nakedness to her words that her form could not match.  The honest fears of an honest leader found an ear with him, and Ma’ven thought clearer and acted better for having Solas in her life. His mind was both a resource and a relief.

His body, however, was neither. Night came with chaste kisses, placid smiles, and the man rolling over and going to sleep. A snore here; a hitched breath there, tapering away to a sigh. Worse came with the heat of his body next to hers. Worse came with the night. And the silence.

For Solas it was the same. Because as soon as they lay out, before the blankets were even covering, Ma’ven insisted on pressing in closer. Her hair would be about him, the only thing he could smell was the fresh bathwater on her skin, and, when her form became flush against him, every sexually-frustrated huff or coy sigh rolled through her body and somehow concentrated in her hips and then she wiggled, just slightly, in an act that seemed like innocent dozing. But it was not innocent. Not when Ma’ven insisted on sleeping naked (having affirmed with Solas that it was alright). Not when she pushed back against his budding erection and left him mustering every ounce of strength so as not to react hurriedly, but thoroughly; frenzied, and desperately.

Kissing was one thing. It was a languid thing; something simple as he navigated and negated her fears by easy, soft distraction. Ma’ven hummed while Solas buried into her neck, nipped at her ears, and it had to be enough as their lips met once more because he did not trust himself. Solas had worked hard to cultivate a reserved façade, and it cracked and wrecked when his lips were on hers. He was never so honest as when Ma’ven was in his arms, pulling his silent secrets which came in the form of his candid passion. At least with his tongue laving over hers he could not articulate words enough to form an out-right confession.

But bedding her was different. _Would_ be different. So he kissed her and they lay in their private torment. And it certainly wasn’t better, but the alternative was far worse.

Until it wasn’t.

Her gasps were lilting. With each step closer, Solas wondered what wound she’d suffered to be losing these stifled sounds. He had left her in the morning, but she’d had no duties more dangerous than paperwork, and it was impossible that a paper-cut warranted such distressed gasping. Upon reaching the Inquisitor’s room, he saw that it was the old pain –the one he knew as well as she. And the sight of it hit him straight in the gut.

There was no look of pleasure leaving her lips slack and brow slick, however. Ma’ven sat on her bed, just as frustrated as she would’ve been were she working at treaties instead of her own sex. The woman’s fingers were crammed down her trousers, only the first few buttons having been left loose, and she was rigid and upright. Hair kept falling in her face, and she kept blowing it away as though the whole situation could not have been more annoying. And when she realized Solas was standing there, staring, finally she seemed to concede to the situation in a way that was appropriate: shock.

“Oh, fen— Solas!”

She’d been thinking about him. She’d been thinking about him watching her, with his posture straight and eyes hard, and realizing he was there made Ma’ven’s body warm violently. She wished she was more embarrassed. It would have been easier, because Solas might have left her to it, but no: the desire she’d been wallowing in all morning, and attempting to forget all afternoon, had abated to a constant numbness in her nethers that she now just wanted to get rid of. Empty loneliness had left her unable to climax, however, and now... Solas was watching her. It wasn’t what she’d pictured.

“Was there something you needed?” Ma’ven opted for casual as she canted her head to the side. She sounded calm except for the tremor playing baritone with her accent. Solas’s brow rose while hearing wanting in the waver.

“I expected you sleeping,” he explained, “but thought you might like waking with company.”

Solas’s hands knit together behind his back, and his gait was soft, confident; strutting. Ma’ven watched him practically float towards the bed while she left her hand caught in the cookie jar, as it were. Realizing she was about to be held accountable, she tried to formulate an argument that didn’t leave her appearing like a lust-addled youth, but then Solas sat at her side, hands on his knees, and she knew that look in his eyes: longing restrained by respect, and love dampened by secrets. This wasn’t about her – it was about him, although that was more what she chose read of the situation.

“You were lonely,” Ma’ven realized warmly. She smirked good-naturedly, and thought about brushing over his cheek with her free hand, though she refrained.

Solas nodded. He had no intention in steering their conversation down the bitter road, however, so he smiled small – a wolfish smile. “I was. As were you, it seems.”

Ma’ven shrugged. It called attention to where her hand still was. Extracting her digits with a self-depreciating laugh, she turned to him frankly. “Not lonely so much as enjoying some alone-time. You know I love going to sleep together. Well, I love waking up together, anyways. Going to sleep together is…”

“Precarious?”

It was one of his half-truths, but it sounded like a complete confession. Ma’ven beamed. “I’d like to take that as a compliment.” Then she considered. “Although it really just makes me realize how pathetic my self-control is.”

“You’ve been respectful,” Solas approved. He adding in deep, dark, serious tone, “ _Somewhat_.”

Ma’ven feigned offence. “Hey, I’ve been respectfully refraining from, you know…”– exaggerated hand gestures indicated the situation– “ ** _this_ ** while you’re sleeping beside me. For, what, a month now? And it’s hard. Because you’re… you know...”

She looked the picture of bashful indiscretion while falling short of admitting he was perfect. The bulk of his shoulders which belonged to a fighter rather than a scholar; his freckle-flushed cheeks that seemed more familiar with smiling, though they insisted on sobriety. Even the lines about his face that became drawn and dark in the sparse light of the rotunda: they highlighted understanding in his eyes, and the years that he carried and she'd yet to hear about. But she loved to listen, and... Perfect – _perfect_ in her eyes.

Solas noted it, the curtailed compliment, but lingered instead on the image she’d suggested: that of Ma’ven, hands entangled and furious, as she worked herself to an end while he slept beside her. The thought stole his breath, and Solas swallowed thickly upon realizing that the room smelled of her arousal.

"You do what must be done," the man prattled distractedly while staring hard at his hands. Harder than necessary –  he hoped the metaphorical weight would keep him from looking over to Ma'ven's unbutton trousers. "You do what must be done, in duty or otherwise. If you find relief necessary..."

"Solas." Her voice was flat; hard, even. She **knew**. "I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable. Or feel pressured into anything. As you say, I've got to do what I've got to do, but I’m not expecting anything more from you. I want you to be comfortable. And happy.”

This earnestness was as seductive as a hand gliding up his thigh and cupping his cock. And his apathetic glance was as much a lie as the rest, for Solas was touched, and, moreover, rocked by the effect her honesty had on him. It was not simply the sincerity its self, but it was also the patience that washed over him like hot breath on his neck, and the adoration that pulled him close and held him from behind. Ma’ven knew nothing of the Wolf. Ma’ven knew only that Solas was hesitant, and she would wait for him to tell her why. And, on top of everything else, she would shoulder the burden of her desires alone because she wanted him to be _happy_.

Ma’ven sat there prettily, eyes bright with the hearth light, lips curled by familiar affection. Solas watched her, wondered, and plotted. For confession was a two-way street: one could not answer incriminating questions when the other was too busy screaming to ask anything in the first place.

Solas moved in close. Ma’ven took this proximity as a prelude to his lips on hers, but her brow darkened when he merely hovered near her face. He wanted to see just how nervous or grateful she might be; to observe her dark yellow eyes burn to gold with lust or misplaced guilt. Either would be fine. Neither would go ignored. Both would be remedied.

Solas slid a hand down her pants.

Squeaking, Ma’ven jerked her hips forward. Solas didn’t delve in immediately; one hand steadied himself on the bed behind, and the other brushed over below her belly, at her womb, and it made her anxious for just how damned tender it was. His strong fingers fell back and forth like brush strokes over sensitive skin, and Ma’ven worried because this was the softest part of her. He could, if he tried, cradle in his palm the protrusion of her stomach beneath the belly button. She wanted to be perfect for him. She wanted to lay out and be beautiful. She wanted—

“Solas,” she choked as his thumb joined the dance and his eyes held her still. “I don’t… _Mmm._ I don’t want you to feel like—“

“Yet I **do** ,” he said, lips ghosting over hers. His voice was rich; soothing. “I _feel_. I feel want; affection. My reserve is not from lack of desire. I will not breach my bounds, Ma’ven. I will go as far as I am comfortable, but trust that I do not feel forced. There is no coercion here.”

She pursed her lips and nodded vigorously. It hadn’t taken much to convince her, but she’d only done what he’d asked: trust.

Solas’s finger inched down over her stomach, the mound of her pelvic bone, and sensed the promising heat at the parting of her lips. Ma’ven might have received the exploratory smoothing of his digit over her clit, but Solas felt the wetness of before when she’d been alone, for her smalls were damp, and how soaking she was now, because as he tried to enter her there was a squelch. He felt he was the luckier.

“Lay back,” Solas requested softly.

Dreamily, Ma’ven rested on the bed (it had _never_ been this soft), and trembled as the man brought his hand out. The remaining buttons on her trousers gave. They were not pulled down, but room was made, and she wasn’t exposed but she felt like she was – and also that she was empty and needing. Solas’s breath was the only sound in the room because Ma’ven had forgotten how to inhale like it was a lost art.

Solas’s hand moved deliberately over her smalls. He teased the length of her clothed core in steady strokes, but he might as well have been rubbing her naked folds. Fussing quietly, Ma’ven gripped the bedsheets beneath. He pressed harder and harder, flicking over her pearl with the back of his forefinger, and it sent echoes that rushed to her legs. She existed only in the repeating, heavy pressure at her cunt, and the light, musical laugh Solas lost at her adorable frustration until— until—

It hadn’t even begun to build, but in a second Ma’ven pressed into the mattress while screaming silently and riding out an intense orgasm. As the room took shape again, some delirious moments later, and her eyesight made sense of things, she snorted at the beatific look on her lover’s face as Solas looked down at her.

“To be fair, I did most of the preliminary work,” Ma’ven smiled deviously. She went to sit up, but Solas’s hand pressed on her chest and kept her down. She gave him a questioning look.

“But I… I’m _good_ ,” she insisted, finally realizing a niggling of guilt now that the distraction of her lust was dissipating. Solas tilted his head, and Ma’ven smirked knowingly. “Ah. Recompense?”

Standing, the man went about shimmying off her slacks while she remained where he’d left her, watching.

“You may return the favour easily,” Solas said, standing between her legs still hanging off the bed. “Clamping around my fingers; screaming my name. Boring your heels into my back. I am not done yet.”

Grinning, he took inspiration from her startled, wordless wheeze and went to his knees. The thick scent caught up in her smalls made Solas appreciate every breath taken as he settled on the floor. There was a place for using time as his agent. A tool of provocation; a means to drive her wild and raving. That place was in bed, but instead Solas pulled her closer, so that she had to support her weight with her little feet and he would have better access.

He mouthed a hot breath of air from the back of his throat through the soaked fabric covering her womanhood. Ma’ven squeaked like she had before, and jerked her hips forward like she had before. She tensed for the misstep. Solas growled as she ground into his mouth, but it was out of hunger, and want. Pulling the cloth away in a desperate flurry, Solas stilled as he met with Ma’ven’s naked, flushed petals that shivered with the rest of her while she waited for more.

“Solas,” she choked out, toes curling on the floor at his side. She sounded so far away; so lost to letting him make her **feel**. So needing, and so _his_.

The man’s erection was persistent but ignored as he kissed softly along her inner thigh to her swollen lips, swiped once with his tongue, and Solas was surprised by the thick taste. Not by the flavor, but that it tasted at all. It had been so long since he’d been with someone, and everything, all of it, was at once new and familiar. Sweat was beading on Ma’ven’s body in the summer heat. Solas’s knees were getting sore already, but even that pain was recognized and remembered. His back was going to hurt, and his jaw… he couldn’t _wait_ for the raw pain of rough use to agitate even to his teeth. So he started laving heavily, almost violently, along her folds and through them, licking then with just the tip of his tongue at her clit in rapid, unrelenting bursts. And there – _perfection_ – her hands at his crown, scratching and holding.

“Fenedhis, Solas, I—“

Flicking at her pearl with his nose, Solas mouthed sloppily, assaulting her with conflicting stimulation as he buried his tongue as deep as possible while rubbing left to right at her labia with his face. She was tight but giving around his tongue, and he burned in the heat of her while Ma’ven clutched at his head, scrabbled, and then tugged at his ears. He grunted. She pulled again and he moaned. It moved from his mouth and through to her core and she cried and came as Solas spread her legs out further, stretched her out, and she was undone in a sodden, soaking, trembling second that caught him at unawares, though she’d felt it climbing for what had seemed like eternity. She came and she shuttered around his tongue, though Solas swore that next time it would be around a finger or two. One cradled in the damp warmth of her core, the other crushed by the strength of her tight—

“I need… Stop, Solas, _please_.” Ma’ven couldn’t stand even the softest teases at her folds. They were both numb and crazed by sensation at the same time. Her body buzzed, though that was abating, yet she felt off about this now. It wasn’t the over-stimulation. It was… something. It was feeling everything and not seeing him. Somehow she was lonely, though they’d never been more together.

“Come lay with me,” Ma’ven asked. She struggled to pull herself up onto the bed proper, and noted weightlessness in her legs as Solas walked over, now bare-chested, and joined her.

She smiled to her teeth. “Ooh,” she purred approvingly. Solas sat against the headboard, and Ma’ven snuggled up to his breast all clouded and confused with freckles. “That’s a nice sight. Almost distracted me from other pointier things.”

He laughed softly, though its lustre didn’t reach his eyes. Still, Solas kissed her hair line and pulled her close. His lips hovered near her forehead for minuets unending.

“We make up a whole outfit,” Ma’ven eventually noted, looking from his naked chest to her naked legs. The man followed her gaze, and brushed a large, elegant hand over her thigh, staring at the skin as though entranced. But he said nothing. Ma’ven frowned.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

Solas sighed. However, he took care to make it sound contented. He shrugged; forced the stormy grey of his eyes to a serene, cloudless blue. Ma’ven didn’t buy it. She reached for his confined half-erection, though she did not grip or tug. She merely placed her hand on it. The ebbing hardness struck her as erotic nonetheless and she swallowed a moan. Solas blew through his nose, but did not stop her.

“What should I be asking? Is it about your past, or…?” The woman left his groin alone and dragged her fingers down his chest. The motions were as tentative as her voice. The scrape of her neat, buffed nails was pleasant, though. The trails they left cooled, warmed; carved lines of sensation that lasted. He almost wanted to ask her to drag a little to the left: over his nipple, in a stroke of delicious feeling that would tickle to his—

Solas rested his head back, and stared off into space.

She didn’t know. Maybe one day she would. The longer Solas knew the Inquisitor and loved Ma’ven, the more he wondered what it would be like to tell her all his terrible secrets. But for now it was enough for him to bear it alone.

They could have made love for years. Before the Veil; before what he’d done. And that was really all it was right then.

“I love you,” she called sweetly from far away in the room. Her face was lost to him in the dark

_Why not tell her?_

“I saw in the Fade a fragment of time captured specifically for all the lust and frenzy of the moment. Two beings were one; two bodies became unified in their tenderness, and in their touch. Years rolled over them unnoticed. They were ancient elves, immortal, and it was their right to ignore the world and live in each other. Where one took breath, the other exhaled. When one caressed in supple, generous gestures, they felt it just the same for they _were_ the same. They shared everything." He paused. "Eventually they shared a grave.”

Ma’ven cuddled closer. Her arms wrapped around Solas best she could while she kissed his breast soft and often.

“Usually your Fade stories don’t go so maudlin.”

“Maybe you’re not listening.”

Ma’ven laughed and nuzzled into him.

“Hey, I’m a great listener!” Sighing, she pillowed her head on his chest again. Her tone deepened. “Be here. With me. I know the Fade says a lot, but don’t worry about what could have been. We have time. And this is perfect. We don’t need any more. Just this.”

Solas stared down at the face staring up. Her vallaslin branched out under her eyes, and made her face wide and beautiful. Its colour matched her gaze: gold, like honey, though far sweeter than anything that came from flowers.

He’d told her – _confessed_ – and still she was here.

“Perfect,” Solas echoed.

His mouth crashed into hers. He sucked at her bottom lip, licked along it, then returned his tongue to writhing against hers. He swallowed her happy moaning by the mouthful, and sought her womanhood with the hand which was not holding her about the waist. He fingered through soft, velvet folds, and found her hot and

_Still wet._

Solas hissed.

Ma’ven’s head fell back as he stroked over and passed her clit, once, twice, a dozen times before seeking the cradle of her channel. She spread her legs. She fretted. She took two fingers, but huffed at a third.

Peeling away, Solas shuffled down the bed to bury his face in her once more. All the numbed and sleepy nerves fired awake, and Ma’ven couldn’t breathe or stop from jerking her hips with each thrust of the fingers he now introduced passed his lashing tongue. Her cunt hummed, but it wouldn’t hammer along with her heart or Solas’s bucking hand because she _couldn’t_. It was too much at once; she felt stretched, soaked, but it was just one feeling: one constant, hazy flow through her body that didn’t peak. Her labia, her clit: they felt good, _so_ good under Solas’s ministrations, but good wasn’t good enough. Biting her lips in frustration, Ma’ven frowned and pounded one fist into the bed.

“I can’t, Solas, I—“

Something silver sparked in her vision. Gorgeous warmth washed out from her thighs, began collecting back in her belly, but…

“I can’t.”

 _Gone_.

And then her whole body excited.

A new, slow touch, having slicked in her juices, worked down to her ass and wriggled at the puckered ring. Ma’ven felt herself immediately and greedily take the head of a thumb that worked back and forth, in and out, but only a little, and _fuck, fuck, fuck_ —

Shem curses spilled from her lips in a string of vulgarity that surprised Solas. Ma’ven tensed as the digit worked away, the natural lubricant of her want dwindling and now it burned, raw and full, her plucked entrance wringing pleasure that bore deeper and deeper than she’d known before, to somewhere very black and complete inside her.

Her hands fisted the bed sheets. Solas stilled for a moment, gauging the sudden tautness of her body.

“Ma’ven?”

Breathing hard, she was only waiting for it to begin again.

“Ma’ven, is it better or worse, vhenan?”

The woman bucked her hips and mewled as his thumb, still in her ass, stretched her gloriously. She saw stars. She felt everything.

“It’s better, Solas. It’s… _ngh_ … fenedhis, more, **please**.”

With that and a smile, Solas sped her towards her end.

One hand whirled her clit. The other traded his thumb for his forefinger, and he curled it once seated inside her ass. The tightness was crushing. It suggested so much gripping sensation that he broke into a sweat. Unconsciously, Solas started rutting into the bed as he finger-fucked her, and, though his erection was now no longer ignorable, he didn’t care and didn’t stop. He wanted to spend with her, or just spend period. He would not until she was crying with her bliss, however, so he quickened the swirling at her pearl because he almost couldn’t wait for her.

Ma’ven was a mess of half-articulated curses, sweat, tears, and wet as she reached the precipice. She felt herself open and force out an orgasm that did not last long, but it was strong and convulsive, and for the first time in a long time it left her legs feeling like jelly. Somewhere Solas was crying too. She hadn’t strength to lift her head, but Ma’ven’s hand found the smooth cap of his crown and she noted him twitching where he lay.

“ _Ooooh_.”

He stayed there quietly, face in the sheets between her legs. Ma’ven eventually sat up, laughed despite herself, and took the tips of his ears in her fingers and rolled them.

“Want me to go get you some clean pants?”

Solas’s voice was muffled by the bed.

“Please.”

 Sputtering with giddy, tired, elated joy, the woman sighed.

“Alright. But what are you going to do for me?”

The slant of his brow and the smirk at his lips as he looked up was perfect.

“Fine, fine.” Leaning forward, Ma’ven kissed his forehead and smoothed her palms over his cheeks. “I love you.”

Solas stayed there, heart crushed with feeling, limbs light from exhaustion, until she returned.


End file.
